Dreams by night
by Ranger ari
Summary: Really need a better title for this. A young Legolas fic. Our favorite elf copes with family issues while struggling to prove himself to his father. I stink at summaries. Rating just to be safe.
1. Return

Hello again! From the dark little corners of my head that are in desperate need of dusting comes..a young Legolas fic!  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own LotR *sob * belongs to The Great Tolkien. ALL HAIL!!!  
  
Note- little bit, okay, quite a bit of angst in the first couple of chaps just to warn u. And the rating is just to be safe; I doubt this is PG-13. Thank u:)  
  
  
  
  
  
He had heard the whispers for as long as he could remember. All about the palace halls, when they thought he was not listening, a group of servants would sniff and comment as he walked by. The young prince sighed quietly to himself as these memories came to mind. A bird called somewhere from the depths of Mirkwood, shaking away the last remnants of elven sleep from him.  
  
A soft knock on the door made him jump in surprise. "Legolas, have you woken?" He did not answer. After a moment, his elf ears heard footsteps receding down the long hall. At once, Legolas sprang from his bed, already fully dressed, and grabbed a bow leaning against his bed. He paused, listening, then when he was sure no one approached the youngest son of Thranduil dashed out of his chamber, closing the door behind him softly in one graceful motion.  
  
Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped into the deserted archery field on the borders of Mirkwood forest. Like most of his kindred, the nine hundred-year elf preferred to be in the company of trees rather than other elves. For the moment, the welcoming saplings sprouting near to the grassy field was enough for the son of Thranduil. But even Legolas agreed with the servants when they said he had grown reclusive, even to his family. It was difficult not to be, he thought to himself as he knocked an arrow and sighted a target, when even his father looked at him strangely, like Legolas had betrayed him in an unspeakable way.  
  
"It was not your fault, Legolas," his eldest brother, Olorphin, had told him once. "It never was; Valar strike me dead if it was."  
  
As he let an arrow fly, Legolas prayed that Olorphin was right. He had never intended to murder his mother.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
  
"Milord," Olorphin's voice interrupted Thranduil in mid-pace as he entered the study. Turning to his son, he knew immediately that something was wrong. His eldest son's usually penetrating bronze gaze was cast down, unwilling to look into his father's face.  
  
"You may see her now." The Wood elf king hurriedly pushed open the doors to his study and strode quickly down the palace halls to his wife's chambers.  
  
Naturiel raised her wearied head as her husband rushed to her bedside. Her soft face was flushed with exhaustion and her golden brown hair was matted and unkempt from hours of labor, making her all the more lovely, in Thranduil's opinion. The king did not notice the paleness of her skin or the solemn expressions of the healers behind him.  
  
"His name is Legolas," the elf queen murmured, her breath coming in short gasps. Thranduil realized that she held a small baby in her arms. He gently touched his new son's cheek. The prince smiled and attempted to grasp his father's finger with both of his tiny hands. Thranduil felt his heart melt as Legolas looked up at him, innocent eyes wide, as if asking his father to accept him, to love him as his son. The king gently lifted the bundle from his wife's arms, cradling the fragile life that was his son close to his chest. "Take care of him, Melyanna," Naturiel's hushed voice brought Thranduil back to the present. He frowned in confusion. A hand on his back made him bring his eyes to the sorrowful gaze of a healer.  
  
"Milord, she... she will not live."  
  
"No." Thranduil turned back to his wife in fierce disbelief, suddenly perceiving her weakened state. His voice shook as sheer terror came over him for perhaps the first time in his long life. "Naturiel."  
  
"Please, Melyanna, take care of him," she whispered. Her brilliant blue eyes clouded over.  
  
"No."  
  
The acceptance Legolas had searched for in his father in that first gaze never came.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
  
  
  
The realm of the Wood elf King was crumbling. That knowledge made itself ever clearer to Thranduil as he strode through the sunlit halls of his palace. The absence of a Ring of Power weighed heavily upon Mirkwood, despite the king's best efforts to maintain the kingdom. The foul beings that inhabited the forest moved with sureness now, bypassing the borders to the kingdom as if waking from an age long slumber. Nothing else stirred from beyond the woodland realm, adding to the king's discomfort. Not all was well within Middle-Earth; even Thranduil had to admit it. Though no threat presented itself to Arda openly, a steady current of unrest had begun in the depths of Mirkwood.  
  
As if to confirm his suspicions, the sound of the arrival of horses reached the king's Elven ears. Olorphin and his company of warriors appeared from a forest path, returning from a border patrol. Thranduil felt a deepening sense of dread fall to the pit of his stomach as he watched the riders from a balcony. The numbers of the warriors were despairingly few, and the remaining elves looked battered and wearied from battle. The dread quickly grew to a slow fear as Thranduil realized that Thilaglar was not with the company.  
  
"Milord," Olorphin greeted his father as Thranduil approached the riders in front of the stables. Around them a small crowd of elves gathered, searching for their loved ones among the surviving group.  
  
"What ill fortune fell upon you?" The king demanded bluntly. Olorphin's gaze flickered for a moment, then returned to a state of blankness, blocking whatever emotion his face might reveal. The prince dismounted quickly and stood before his father.  
  
"We were attacked." he began, "At nightfall, at least a dozen spiders came across our camp. We were not prepared, and lost many." This time the grief was apparent in the elf prince's eyes. Turning away, he pulled a helmet from his saddle- bag.  
  
"Thilaglar was lost."  
  
Thranduil's hands shook as he took his third eldest son's helmet from Olorphin's hands. A series of emotions flashed across his face, finally settling on a stony glare that Olorphin had seen many years ago, after Naturiel had died in childbirth. The prince silently led his chestnut steed away, leaving Thranduil alone with the last memory of his son.  
  
  
  
  
  
The arrow lodged in its target with a sharp twang, a perfect hit. Legolas reached for another, not quite pleased with his first shot. Of course, he hardly ever was quite satisfied with his skills with the bow. With eight older brothers to feel inferior to, even a slight mishap earned Legolas endless humiliation from his kin. Carefully he pulled another arrow from his quiver, choosing a smaller target nearly buried behind the undergrowth of Mirkwood. He fired, and the arrow flew true to its mark.  
  
"An excellent shot, milord." Legolas jumped a foot off the ground as a golden haired elf appeared from the brush where his arrow had vanished. " Your wondrous aim nearly speared my right arm."  
  
Legolas offered an apologetic smile, all the while fuming at his brother. Trust Belegril to disturb a peaceful morning of solitude. He wondered why the arrogant elf had not joined the company that had left some weeks earlier to patrol Mirkwood's borders.  
  
"I trust you are not here to inspect my archery skills," Legolas said, annoyed.  
  
"Nay, but if I go, you will have no willing target with which to test them on," he retorted smoothly.  
  
Legolas watched his brother swiftly remove his arrow from the target, a small wooden block hung from a tree, and examine it closely. Second eldest of the nine sons, Belegril bore a striking resemblance to his father. With sharp grey eyes and a regal posture, he bore the mark of royalty more so than any of his kin, and could often be mistaken for Thranduil himself if looked on from behind. Olorphin frequently said that he was more like his mother before she died, soft spoken and compassionate. The passing of Naturiel was quick to put sharpness in his step, and coldness in his words, however, creating an even more convincing imitation of Thranduil. Perhaps this was why he does not leave the palace walls easily, Legolas thought to himself. Like Thranduil feared for his sons' lives, Belegril feared that battle would leave no heir to the throne of Mirkwood, and busied himself in the cavernous palace library, studying the languages and history of Arda. Legolas himself saw no point in his older brother's actions. The young prince longed to join the war parties that scouted the forests to defeat spiders and other foul things. While Belegril spent hours in an ancient text, Legolas worked to exhaustion perfecting his skills with the bow. Naturally, the brothers hardly ever found something to agree on.  
  
"Father wishes to see us," Belegril informed Legolas, returning the arrow to its quiver lying on the ground. "And Olorphin's company has returned from the borders."  
  
Legolas's blue eyes shone at this bit of news. Bidding Belegril a hasty farewell and thanks, he eagerly gathered his training bow and quiver and hurried to the stables to meet the company. Any excuse to avoid a confrontation with his father was always welcomed.  
  
  
  
  
  
Legolas broke into a run as he caught sight of Olorphin leading his horse to the stable. The eldest son of Thranduil turned at the sound of his name, and gave a small smile that made his brother freeze in his tracks.  
  
"What news of the borders?" Legolas asked tentatively as worry began to creep up his spine.  
  
Olorphin shook his dark head. "Naught that you should burden yourself with, not yet." His tone only made Legolas's worry rise. He followed Olorphin into the extensive stables, taking care to stay out of way of the many horses flooding into their stalls.  
  
"What happened, brother?" he shouted above the clatter of hooves. Olorphin did not reply at first, then spoke softly.  
  
"Father wishes to speak to you. Make haste, for he will not wait long."  
  
Legolas gave up and wove his way through the now chaotic stable aisle to the palace.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sun danced upon the numerous volumes of the palace library, casting its rays everywhere it could reach. Thranduil felt its warmth on his face, but did not recognize it. He looked to the large window overlooking the archery fields. A few elves gathered to practice, drawing freshly fletched arrows from intricately carved quivers. Someone sang a sweet song of welcoming nearby, but the wood elf king did not hear it. Turning his gaze inward, he found Belegril slumped in one of his favorite chairs, features blank as the desk before him. Elven senses warned Thranduil of the arrival of his youngest son. Legolas made no sound as he entered the cavernous library, but strode swiftly to his father's desk. The sight of the young prince drove a dagger through the king's heart. He looked so much like his mother, the only son to inherit her deep sapphire gaze and softened features. How many times had he pondered this, that he should look so much like her and yet be the one to-  
  
Thranduil shook his head, and the thought disappeared. Refusing to look Legolas in the eye, he turned his gaze to the door as Olorphin entered, closing the door behind him. Since Thranduil's other five sons were away on scouting trips, there would only be three to mourn their brother's death.  
  
Olorphin promptly sat next to Belegril, murmuring something incoherent and placing a comforting hand on his brother's back. Legolas regarded them all questioningly, managing to remind Thranduil of his youth even as the young prince folded his arms across his chest in confusion. The wearied king sighed and motioned for Legolas join his brothers in a chair. He thought for a moment, trying to decide what to tell the young prince, and finally settled on the truth.  
  
"Legolas, your brother Thilaglar, is gone." Thranduil held his breath, waiting for his son's reaction. The elf did not move, and for a moment, Thranduil thought he was not breathing.  
  
"How?" The word came just above a whisper.  
  
"Defending the borders. Legolas,"  
  
Without a word, Legolas ran from the library, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Gone. How could such an able warrior have-?  
  
Legolas did not fight the tear that ran down his cheek, splashing onto his soft tunic, followed by another that dripped onto his pillow. Olorphin always returned from battle. Thilaglar had always returned from battle. The prince had not paid much heed to the weeping elven women and the riderless horses that came with the returning companies. All he knew was the borders were safe again and his brothers were heroes. Now, now he understood why the she- elves wept and the horses returned without warriors upon their backs. He shook his head in disbelief. Elves were immortal. Any fool in all of Arda knew that. How could such a valiant elven warrior...die...like any mortal?  
  
"Legolas? Legolas!" Olorphin's sharp tone made the son of Thranduil jump. Legolas said nothing, and soon he heard the familiar tread of footsteps down the hall.  
  
Legolas should have understood how. Another tear disgraced his cheek and landed on his bed as he thought. He should have known; the prince knew why Thranduil looked at him differently. He had killed his mother. Legolas let loose a sob. He had killed his mother and now Thilaglar was gone. A mocking voice in the back of his mind sang, 'your fault, your fault, you have led your brother to his doom.'  
  
The son of Thranduil shook his head violently. No, it was not true. But he shuddered as an icy hand gripped his throat and he felt in his heart that it was true. 


	2. Stand alone

AN: FINALLY! exams are over!!! Curse our horrendous school system; we have exams after winter break, which delayed the posting of this chapter. I am very sorry for not getting this up earlier, and I missed writing it! *pets computer * ;)  
  
note-If you want me to, ask me, and I'll list all of Legolas's siblings' names at the beginning of each chapter if it gets confusing. (Nine kids!! AAAHHHH!)  
  
another note- Please excuse my limited elvish and the shortness of this chapter. I promise to make the next one much longer(the action/adventure part of the story will soon appear) *bangs head on desk * writer's block.ugh  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own LotR *sob * belongs to The Great Tolkien. ALL HAIL!!!  
  
"A mourning feast." The tone of Olorphin's voice made it clear what he thought. "A feast."  
  
Thranduil gritted his teeth out of habit. Father and son stood less than a foot from one another inside the palace library. Belegril chose this moment of tense silence to wisely slip from the room. Every inhabitant of Mirkwood had learned long ago to vacate the premises when Olorphin and Thranduil stood face to face with their arms crossed and elven glares locked.  
  
"It will be an appropriate gesture of respect toward your brother," The king's voice was on the verge of becoming a growl. Olorphin's stare flickered for a moment at this, but he did not back down. When Naturiel had passed, the eldest prince had learned quickly how to hold a dispute with his father. Olorphin had needed to. Thranduil had not taken his wife's death well, nearly driving himself to death with grief. When the king had recovered, he searched almost eagerly for someone to blame, to relieve his own guilt...  
  
Legolas had been that one. The child Naturiel had wanted so desperately to be protected was subject to his father's anger. Fortunately, Olorphin had spied the smoldering wrath behind Thranduil's grey eyes before long and convinced the Wood elf King that the Queen's passing was not Legolas's fault. Still, even the youngest son of Thranduil knew how close he had come to being rejected.  
  
The thought still sickened Olorphin as he stood before his father.  
  
"It shall be held a fortnight from now. Before you return to the border."  
  
Olorphin turned away in defeat and stormed from the library. A simple feast, to honor perhaps the most valiant warrior of his company. While he despised the idea, he also saw the reason for it. Dark times had fallen upon the forests of Mirkwood, and barely a fortnight could be spared at rest. The attack that had taken Thilaglar's life had been such a surprise that even the eldest warriors in Olorphin's company were shaken. Even in the sanctuary of Thranduil's palace, he could feel rising tension like a stench on the air, moving ever nearer with the winds of approaching darkness. Casting these ominous thoughts from his mind, Olorphin realized with a start that he was standing at Legolas's chamber door. Cautiously he called, "Legolas? Legolas!" There was no answer. The eldest prince sighed, defeated once again and returned to his chambers.  
  
Days pass quickly for the Firstborn of Arda. For Legolas, the next weeks disappeared into the haze of memory, but the hours of those days seemed like an eternity. Barely a word was spoken between Thranduil and his sons, and a stony silence fell upon Mirkwood. The quiet was deafening to the young prince, and he searched almost desperately for something to keep him occupied before his five brothers returned home.  
  
Unfortunately, Olorphin searched for something to occupy himself with as well, and had promptly decided that his youngest brother was desperately in need of training with a sword. After three days of grueling practice, Legolas at last gave into his body's cries for attention one particularly hard afternoon in the grassy archery field. As Olorphin drew his sword to begin a lesson, Legolas collapsed in a heap on the soft ground.  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"Please, Olorphin, no more swords!" The prince whimpered softly and closed his eyes. After a minute of silence he opened them suspiciously to find Olorphin cross- legged in the grass beside him, his regal head now in his hands.  
  
"I am sorry, Legolas," he murmured. His graceful frame shook with silent sobs as the grief the elf prince had buried days ago found its way out. Legolas felt his own sorrow rise and crawled over to his weeping brother, wrapping his arms around Olorphin's shoulders.  
  
"It will not be easy to return to the border without Thilaglar by my side," Olorphin said quietly. Legolas frowned at his brother's words.  
  
"Return?"  
  
The elf prince raised his head, a lone tear trailing down his cheek. "Yes."  
  
"Why are you returning to the border?" Legolas's voice rose in a slight panic.  
  
"Spiders move quickly, as do orcs. I cannot afford to stay here, Legolas. You know this. Why does it surprise you now?"  
  
"But, Thilaglar...It's too dangerous," he said defiantly, as if that settled the matter. How could Olorphin think of going back into obvious peril after his own brother was killed? Legolas himself had decided not to pick up his bow again after hearing of Thilaglar's death. If a creature of Mirkwood could harm a son of Thranduil, then no one was safe.  
  
Olorphin said nothing as he gazed remorsefully at his brother's fair face, remembering Legolas's youth all too well. The elf felt a wave of guilt on his back when he realized that he was looking into his mother's crystalline eyes and that soon he would be leaving Legolas to stand alone before the Wood elf King.  
  
Another discarded tunic made its way to a pile of garments beside Belegril's mirror. Legolas sighed impatiently and pulled another over his head.  
  
"No," Belegril muttered, "Perhaps a shade lighter?"  
  
The prince rolled his eyes. Yes, he had made a mistake coming to Belegril the evening of the mourning feast. Bothering his brother at a time of stress only led to certain peril.  
  
Many tunics and arguments later, Belegril was at last satisfied of his youngest brother's appearance.  
  
"May I go now?" Legolas groaned, finishing the short braid that fell across his back.  
  
Belegril gave a short nod and shooed his brother down to the dining hall, returning to his quarters to prepare himself.  
  
Even with his pointed ear pressed against the dense woodwork, Legolas could not hear more than the low murmur of melodious elven voices. The prince was not strong enough to pull the heavy doors open by himself, nor did he wish to. A knawing ache in his stomach told him that eventually, he would have to enter the feasting hall and meet his brothers.  
  
'If they still live.'  
  
Legolas nearly choked with the effort of holding back a fresh wave of grief. He leaned heavily against the dark wood, composing himself. Thranduil would never approve of a weeping prince of Mirkwood, and Belegril would be aghast if tears soiled Legolas's tunic. As swiftly as the tears came, a grim smile of amusement crossed his face before he could stop it. Olorphin would feel terrible to see his youngest brother in pain, and Thilaglar-  
  
Would not be there to scold him. Legolas bent over, teetering between insanity and desperate grief. He willed his stomach not to heave, and clambered back to his feet. Slowly, the son of Thranduil became aware of his surroundings once more, burying the pain that threatened to tear him apart.  
  
"Milord?" The guard had returned to his post at last. Legolas nodded silently, not trusting his voice. The guard placed his hand on the prince's shoulder briefly, as if for condolence, before pushing the doors wide. Legolas took a deep breath, and entered the hall of the Wood Elf King.  
  
"Romensul!" Legolas fought the urge to run across the expanse of the feasting hall to his brother. Romensul, the fourth eldest son of Thranduil, smiled with approval as Legolas walked with dignity to his side.  
  
"Mae Govannen, Legolas," the warrior greeted his youngest brother. Legolas craned his neck to look Romensul in the eye. The tallest of Thranduil's line, the elder prince stood a head taller than even Olorphin, and Legolas barely reached his lean shoulders.  
  
"Where is Celebril?" Legolas demanded when he realized his fifth brother was nowhere to be seen. The elder elf glanced around the immense feasting hall before answering in a low tone,  
  
"We parted company a day away from the palace. He led a small party of soldiers eastward to scatter a family of spiders. Do not fear, my brother," the prince added quickly upon noticing Legolas's panicked expression, "He and his company will be arriving before sunrise."  
  
The youngest son of Thranduil breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and the worry that gripped his heart lessened slightly. Romensul offered a comforting smile and turned away, golden hair brushing the back of his grey tunic like a waterfall. Legolas held back a snicker as several elf maidens' eyes followed Romensul's movements and scanned the approaching elves for the rest of his kin.  
  
"Legolas," The Wood Elf King took his son's shoulders and was steering the helpless prince toward the table before Legolas had a chance to react. "Lord Elladen wishes to speak with you."  
  
Legolas knew that was not true; Thranduil had been attempting rather forcefully to associate his youngest son with the noble elves of Arda and this feast would be no different. The prince sent a desperate glance in Romensul's direction, and in one fluid motion, the warrior was beside Elladen, escorting the Noldor elf to a seat beside him. Thranduil said nothing at this, but Legolas felt his grip on his shoulders tighten briefly before releasing him. Legolas nodded in thanks to his brother and sat safely between Olorphin and Belegril.  
  
The king took his place at the head of the long table, and a hush fell over the hall.  
  
"Friends of old, I welcome you to the realm of Mirkwood even in these dark times. May our losses," he paused, regarding the sparse number of his warriors with a sorrowful resolve, "not be in vain, and may the Valar protect our loved ones as they battle for the safety of the Woodland realm."  
  
Olorphin bowed his head, accepting the blessing bestowed upon the warriors. The cold lump in the pit of Legolas's stomach returned as he watched Belegril lower his noble head as well.  
  
Thranduil took his seat, and the mourning feast began. Legolas tugged almost frantically on Belegril's tunic, wrinkling the once smooth material and receiving a glare from his brother.  
  
"Belegril... are you escorting Olorphin to the borders?"  
  
"I am joining him," the elder elf replied in a hollow tone. He turned blank eyes to his brother. "A Company of Noldor elves led by Lord Elladen will join us to fight as well."  
  
Legolas nearly dropped his goblet in confusion. He had never seen Belegril take up a sword, or join a war party, for that matter. His brother had always been somewhere in the palace, studying ancient texts, or helping Legolas with his mapping skills. The youngest son of Thranduil choked on newfound anger and the remnants of elven wine.  
  
"Why are you going?" he cried, and his heart shouted 'Why are you leaving me?' Several elf lords looked over in surprise at the usually quiet prince's outburst. "There are enough warriors to protect the border already." He stared in disbelief at Belegril.  
  
"There are too few, Legolas," the prince said quietly. "You know this well."  
  
"How can you leave," the youngest prince was nearing hysterics. "How can you go back when Thilaglar is dead?!"  
  
An ominous silence fell upon the hall, and the echoes of Legolas's last words were swallowed by the stillness.  
  
"Legolas," Olorphin's soft voice broke the trance held over the elf lords.  
  
Legolas did not answer, but fled from the hall, fresh tears of rage draining him of what love was left for his family. 


End file.
